What Sorry State

Mme. Levy reports, “Someone's just made a fascinating post on beach bags at BlogHer. I think they're on sale!”

How to shift the thinking. Okay: women online who are connected to business in any way are as co-opted as the next person, it's silly not to think so. And stupid not to remember.

Don't be looking to BlogHer, or anywhere else that buys and sells, for any kind of political truth. Or support.

If there's a Women's Movement, it exists in your own life—in the next moment, in how you interact with your son, lover, husband, father.

Never forgetting that any shred of dirt you eat, you eat for all of us. Think of it as educating them.

My cleaning lady had a boarder, a man in his early thirties, whose girlfriend came over to prepare all his meals. Why? Because mommy had prepared his every morsel, to the day he left home. Bad mommy. Empty mommy, to raise a spoiled cripple. Tell me, young 'uns, you don't have time for that crap. (Geez, Zo, his girlfriend does.)

I don't know what to think. I know it's hard, building a personhood, in this fucked mess of a society, buried neath imagery that sells things to the male eye. And perhaps that's the worst of it: you've learned to see yourself—because of all this wretched objectifying and fetishizing—you've learned to see your own body through the eyes of men.

I also think this is useful work, this is where you can Make a Difference. Root out the martyr in your own soul, root out the needy sex. Owning your phenomenal strength is scary shit ... gor, you might end up alone.

Now there's a fate worse than death.